Today I took a long walk in the pouring rain. And I did some thinking. And wrote a poem.
I call this 'St Bees weather', it reminds me of my youth, walking for hours in my little piece of heaven, a tiny, remote village on the edge of the sea in Cumbria. It seemed to rain a lot in St Bees. But, getting soaked through, meandering aimlessly across fields, down tree lined lanes, listening to the raindrops, surrendering to the elements; Well it was freeing and life enhancing. Now, alas, I live in a town. 'Needs must' and all that. But I still take long walks in the rain - and I can still feel the joy of getting soaked through. Today, as I walk, I can see people in motor vehicles, usually one person to a car. They fear the rain it seems. They could, many of them, have walked to wherever they were going; the local shop, work, the school run. People used to do that. I know because I am old and remember. Now they think they are too busy, too important. Before they know it, they will come to believe that this is normal behaviour. I'm not entirely alone on my walk, I see another two souls surrendering to the elements, each of them, like me, having given up on an umbrella, preferring instead to feel the rain on their skin. One is a mother, with a pushchair. Hers is a lucky child. This mother knows that, all wrapped up in warm clothes, it is good for her baby to be out in the rain. It's natural. We know that. The multitudes in their cars have forgotten. They might quite possibly be part of the trend to scorn anything natural. This is, after all, a country where they kill wildlife and chop down trees. Foxes, badgers, squirrels, rabbits, mountain hares and goats, geese, starlings, magpies, pigeons, gulls. Even ravens. 'Kill them all' say the people and the authorities agree. Take away their habitat, the places they lived before people came along. Once a fragment remained, in tiny, well dressed suburban gardens, where some people would feed the small creatures. Now they find that too rustic and they replace it all with nylon grass and plastic. Groups of people fell forests to make room for industry - oh so ironic - towers of concrete in place of trees, and they are applauded and held as examples of human innovation and intelligence. It is not so. Meanwhile the people in their cars drive everywhere they think they need to be, and for those who would drive but want to stare at screens instead, they build new, ever faster, railways through virgin countryside so that people with little lives can gawp at little screens, while what is left of the countryside passes them by outside their window. They are unaware. They draw the curtain to block out the light. Now they see their screens more clearly. These people don't like the rain either. On my walk, I see a sparrow sheltering under the eaves of a house. The poor thing looks terrified, not afraid of getting wet but fearful that I have noticed it and might choose to harm it. And I wonder how did I find myself living here, in an age where people are so at odds with nature, where motor vehicles and human infrastructure take priority. Where wildlife is labelled a pest and removed. Where green is replaced with grey. Where anything natural is seen, by fools, as a potential inconvenience in their little lives, and where, given the opportunity,..... they would probably try to stop the rain itself. Then, one day, they stopped the rain Because it made some people wet. They vowed to turn it off again, Whenever it might pose a threat. The people in their cars were dry, Their minds at ease, but unaware, They didn't stop to wonder why There was no life left anywhere. And so they tried to dim the sun In case the lie was clear to see, Illuminating what they'd done, In case the truth should set them free. Alas too late, a storm arrived, A thunderclap, a silent scream. The people left their cars, and cried, Awakened from their foolish dream. © Jason Endfield 2018
1 Comment
Amanda
24/12/2018 08:10:01 am
I walk to work, I walk to the shops, I like walking. Whatever the weather, I go out walking.
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